Sketch
by Writerdragon
Summary: Misty was baffled by what she saw in Tracey's sketchbook—no, baffled was not the right word to describe how she felt. There was a drawing of her. Tracey/Misty.


**Orangeshipping is one of my favorite Pokémon ships, other than Wishfulshipping and Crystalshipping. I think this is the most unrated Pokémon ships out there, and I think that Pokéshipping is the most overrated shipping out there. I really hate Pokéshipping because I don't particularly like Ash (really, I don't like any Ash shipping).**

**So, yay, Orangeshipping! :D**

**Haters gunna hate. And if you don't like what you see . . .**

**Get out and deal with it.**

**:D**

**Might be slightly OOC, but I tried. It's been a while since I've seen these characters. Maybe I should go watch the shitty dub again . . .**

**English names.**

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><p><em>Sketch<em>

Papers were scattered all over the carpet.

_Keep this one, toss this one._

A young male with jade-green hair sat on his knees, rummaging through his drawer that held his many elegant sketches and sketchbooks. It was "cleaning season," as Tracey would call it. It was a day of him going through his drawing, picking out the ones he liked, and recycling the ones he did not fancy anymore. His Marill sat by his side, her eyes large as she looked up at him. Tracey's eyes turned to her, and he smiled, holding up a sketch of her.

"Do you like this one?" he asked tenderly, holding up the drawing before her.

"Marill mar," the rounded blue Pokemon reached up with her stubby paws, taking the paper from her Trainer's hands.

Tracey smiled, patting her head sweetly. He then returned to shuffling his papers and drawings. "Goodness, I forgot how many I had," Tracey whispered to himself, glancing at a picture of a Raichu before deeming it as flawed before throwing it behind him. "I need to keep tab." He ducked his head more, grabbing a bulk of papers, glancing over the pictures, throwing ones he did not like to the side, and the ones he loved onto his bed.

"Oh, gosh, Tracey."

Tracey stood up quickly, a thick blush on his face as his foot pushed some of his drawings to the side. "O-oh, hello, Misty," he greeted, his hands behind his back as he grinned shyly. "Why are you here?"

The red-headed female crouched down, her hands picking at the drawings on the floor. "These are good," she stated, grabbing a drawing, staring at the Charmander drawing. "What are you going to do with these?"

"Um, I'm going to recycle them," he said, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his head.

"You're going to throw them out, why?" Misty asked, abashed as she shuffled through the drawings. "They're so good."

"Well, I don't need them anymore," Tracey stated, crouching down next to his open drawer, pulling out some more sketches to decide their fate. "You can have them, if you want."

"I will take a few," she said, taking a few of them, folding them gently and with care she placed them into her pocket. "They're too good to throw out."

He looked to her, a rosy tint upon his cheeks. "T-thank you," Tracey said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Take as many as you like." The jade-haired man took another sheet of paper, looked at it, and tossed it to the side.

Misty shuffled through the papers scattered on the floor, taking the few that she liked and putting the others in a decent pile.

"Why are you here?" Tracey asked, kneeling as he turned to face her.

"I just wanted to see you," she stated, turning to face her friend with a grin. "You've been busy with things and busy at the Professor's lab, and I've busy with the Gym and stuff. I just wanted to see you."

Tracey smiled sheepishly as he reached up to rub at the back of his head. "Yes, I have been busy lately," he said. "But there's so much to learn about Pokémon, and there's so many of them out there. I just have to draw ones that I have seen." He turned to his sketchbook, grabbed it, and shuffled over to her. "Here, see. This is a Pokémon from the Unova region." He opened the book, and showed her a black and white drawing of a Pokémon.

There was a creature that looked like a slender version of a Mankey. It had a tree-like tuft on top of its head, fanned-out ears on either side of its head, and the creature's tail was lithe with leaf-like tips. Misty took the sketchbook, and stared at the creature.

"It's so cute," she said with a smile. "What is it?"

"It's called a Pansage," Tracey stated. "Ash sent a picture of his friend's Pansage, and sent it to Oak. I had to draw it the moment I saw it. He is cute, isn't he?"

"I just want to take him home," Misty said, her hand to her cheek as she continued to beam.

Tracey shifted, staring at her with a sincere and gentle smile. He fingered at the book, and flipped the page, showing her another drawing. "There's more, if you want to see any more," he said, standing up to move to his dresser drawer.

Misty looked at him briefly before looking at another drawing of another Mankey-like Pokémon. It looked almost like the Pansage before it; however the tuft on its head was swirled as it pointed upward. Its tail was long as it curled up, and its tip was pointed. It was just as cute as the Pansage. Misty looked to the corner of the page, and noticed something written there:

_Pansear_.

She smiled before turning the page. There was a small, bird-like Pokémon drawing called _Pidove_, and the next page to see a slender feline Pokémon named _Purrlion_. Misty continued to flip through the pages before she froze, looking at a certain drawing. The breath from her lungs was taken from her, and her jaw went slack as she stared bug-eyed at the piece of paper. Misty was baffled by what she saw in Tracey's sketchbook—no, baffled was not the right word to describe how she felt.

There was a drawing of her.

It was a side-drawing of her holding an Azurill in her arms. She was looking off in the distance as she sat under the tree by Professor Oak's laboratory. It looked as if it had been drawn frown within the building and done in secret. Tracey could only draw from life . . . He had to have drawn this when she wasn't paying attention. It also had been coloured neatly—and with care—with sharp coloured pencils. He had put so much loving detail with this drawing. And in the corner of the drawing were red-penciled little hearts with her name in the middle of the tiny drawings.

Misty sharply swallowed, staring at the drawing. She was completely out of rational thinking—it was like she was in a distant land as she stared slack-jawed at the drawing. Only a voice pulled her from her distant reality:

"W-what? Misty . . ."

She snapped her head up as she stared at Tracey's abashed face. His mouth was pressed tightly together, his eyes large and fearful, and she noticed that he was breathing much faster than he normally would.

"Um," he breathed, unsure of what to say.

He took the sketchbook from his friend's hands, and held it to his chest before moving away from her. "Um, yes," he said, his mind groping for anything to say. "Um . . . um . . ."

Misty slowly stood up, staring at him with unsure eyes. She closed her mouth, and swallowed thickly. "Tracey, why did you draw me?" she asked, staring up at him.

He gripped his beloved sketchbook tightly, gawking at her with wide eyes. His mouth moved, but nothing articulated or intelligible came out. He then sighed deeply, and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Misty," he whispered, looking away from her.

She approached him, and gingerly took the sketchbook, looking at the drawing with a certain amount of awe and surprise that still lingered. His hands were wrung at his chest, staring at her, evaluating her face and eyes.

"What are you sorry about?" she whispered. "It's a lovely drawing."

He stared at her as he swallowed sharply. "Y-you think?" Tracey asked, staring down at her.

"Yeah," Misty breathed. There was a stagnant pause. "Tracey?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Why did you draw me, though?"

Now what was Tracey going to say? His fingers were pressed together, trying to think of something—anything—to say. "Because . . . well . . .," he whispered, looking away from her, and suddenly found interest in a photograph of his family. He really didn't want to talk about how much he secretly liked her, but he guessed he had to now. He straightened his form, took an intake of breath, and looked down at her with determination.

"I drew you because I like you."

She looked at him, her eyes wide and she could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. She always figured that he had some sort of a crush on her back when they used to travel together back on the Orange Islands—but she always liked Ash, but realized that he was too thick-headed to ever see it. Even though she still had feelings for him, they had dulled over time. Now that she thought about it more thoroughly, she rather was fond of Tracey herself. He was smart, sweet, and a gentle person. She, at first, didn't like the idea of a stranger joining their gang when they first met, but soon he became her best friend. She glanced back at the drawing he had made of her, and a soft smile formed on her lips.

"You really mean that?" she asked.

"Yes."

She grinned, giving him back his beloved sketchbook before pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. He froze as he held his sketchbook closer to his breast and his eyes widened. She pulled back, albeit a stubborn blush flushed over her cheeks, and she left, not without grabbing her pictures and threw a quick "goodbye! See you tomorrow" to him. And he stood there, shocked and stunned. He then blinked, pulling back his sketchbook, and smiled at his drawing. He turned to his desk, snatching up a pencil, and scribbled on the blank sides of the paper. Tracey beamed, placed his sketchbook onto his desk, snatched up his scrap drawings, and left his room. And on his drawing at the top corner of the page, which fluttered gently in the wind, it read:

_Tracey + Misty._

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><p><strong>This reminds me of all the times I go through my art and recycle it. I also call it "spring cleaning."<strong>


End file.
